


Spin The Bottle, When Will It Stop

by liketogetlost



Category: Terminator: The Sarah Connor Chronicles
Genre: F/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2013-01-01
Updated: 2013-01-01
Packaged: 2017-11-23 05:32:54
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 991
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/618648
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/liketogetlost/pseuds/liketogetlost
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Allison hiccups over her time of death, and shakes her head. “You're not a monster. Monsters have hearts.”<br/>Cameron is dreaming. Cameron is broken.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Spin The Bottle, When Will It Stop

Cameron is crying. Her teeth, shiny white and porcelain fake, grip her bottom lip. She tilts her head at the image, watches in detached wonder as her reflection speaks.

“I'm scared, mommy.” Allison sobs, drinks her own tears. “The monsters will get me.”

As she says it, the reflection's right hand twitches, once, twice. _One, two, three, she'll never find me here._ Laughter echoes, dances in from beyond the background.

Cameron shakes her head, and wonders why the reflection doesn't do the same. “Monsters are not real.”

The room she stands in is dark, pitch black blood around her like she just fell in straight. All she can see is this image, this mirror. Her fingertips brush the surface and fall inward. Alice could walk through here, it occurs to her for some reason.

“Please, they're coming! Can't you hear them? They're so loud!” Allison's arms wrap around herself, and Cameron has to blink before they stretch and cord themselves around her one too many times.

“Monster's don't exist.” Now her hand is twitching.

Allison hiccups over her time of death, and shakes her head. “You're not a monster. Monsters have hearts.”

 

Cameron is dreaming. Cameron is broken.

\--

He coughs blue, bright blue salt water, onto the ground and squints against the dark red fog in the air. His lungs hurt like they're full of sand, his bones hurt like every last one is broken. In his hand is a gun.

“Cameron!” His voice sounds foreign to his ears, rough with pain and age. He stumbles forward, almost trips over a plank of wood. Almost trips over a fallen soldier.

He stares forward, crosses his eyes and lets them slide backwards into his head before he sees her. A tall, thin outline in the distant dust. She's reaching, no. She's dancing.

She's wearing a white leotard, miraculously immaculate even in this grit, and her hair is pulled up into a bun. Loose tendrils frame her face.

Beyond the crash of bombs into the ground is the soft, striking sound of Chopin. His tongue licks the blood from his lips as he watches her dance ballet across a pile of rotting corpses. Back straight, chin forward, left hand twitching out of sync with the rest of her body.

A helicopter flies by, and when she stops, pointed toes digging into someone's neck, and she speaks to him she speaks silence above the sound of the replier. 

“Cameron, what are you doing?”

“Don't step on the cracks.” She says, lips pink and glossy plump. The sound of cracking bone beneath her feet as she lands from a pitch perfect leap makes him scream.

 

John wakes, heart racing. Cameron stands above his bed.

\--

The shed is dirtier than at the last house. He hears something that could be a rat's feet on the floor by the window but Cameron's hips push his deeper into the old mattress and he groans. John's wondered about this, this friction. Woken up hard and sweating and sick to his stomach.

Breathless, and her tongue tastes like flesh and not iron like he had thought it would. “Why now?” He manages to say as she pulls his shirt over his head with ease. 

“It's time.” Sounds like something she would say, sounds like someone else's voice.

He swallows his urgency, leans back when she reaches for him. “That's it, it's _time_? What, is this an order from future John?” There he is again, that shadowy figure in the corner who's stolen his shape. He always appears when John thinks about his future.

She picks up his hand and places it on her chest, on the softness of her breast. “I have a heart.” Her eyes look softer, but that could just be a trick of the moonlight. 

There's something there, beating. Like the hands of a clock. _One, two, three, four, tick tock, tick tock._

Mouths crush together again, he speaks between the battles of their tongues. “Yeah, okay. But, do you want this?”

She'd taken her jeans off at the door, and was left in her t-shirt and underwear. Now she pulls his hand down, sweaty palm past her waistband, lets him feel how much she wants this. 

No more talking, no more questions. She feels more real than she's ever felt before, like he's found that girl who smiled at him so brightly from the seat in the next row. Her hands, fingers, and lips find him in places like she's been there before, walked the terrain and drank the water. He plays with her like a new toy, curious as to how to work her so her breath will hitch like that, again, again, again.

His pores weep in the cool air, her skin is dry and smooth against his. He stares, transfixed, at her moving above him like she's a film he can't turn away from. Each thrust of her hips is perfect, calculated and makes his eyes roll into the back of his head.

Teeth gritted, head back and neck stretched, suddenly circled by her hand as fingers clench and unclench across his throat. He watches her, gasping and grinding beneath her heavy thinness. He's had this dream before, too.

“I know what it feels like to die.” Her back arches into a precise curve and her thumb presses a bruise into his skin. Beauty and death grip him by the neck, and he has to struggle to breath against the suffocation of her thighs.

His heart pumps pure adrenaline through his system as he reaches up and fists the metal locket that hangs around his neck. Stars and shards of metal dance behind his eyelids when he shuts them tight.

“What's it like?

She doesn't respond until his eyes flutter open again and find hers, glowing like a predator's in the dark. “It's like swimming.”

“You can't swim.”

 

But she can't hear him. Cameron is breaking, and she pulls John down with her.


End file.
